My writings against feminism have led to more people breaking with me than anything I have written over years. That is, next to my writings on office politics. To be honest, I had not expected this. I did not know that these people stereotyped themselves more unfavorably than I can ever do. In the past few months, people have been asking me many strange questions:
“The only reason I still talk to you is that you have ALSO written some of the best blog posts I have ever read. I have no idea what happened to you over the past few months. When I started reading your work, I did not see any such misogynist agenda. There was nothing of that sort. But, now, every post of yours is a rape apology of one kind or the other. I do not know whether you really mean what you say, or whether you are trying to provoke, to amuse yourself. Why do you hate women so much?”
“You seem to really despise women. I do not think I am really an outlier, in my gender. Even if I am, I think you friended me before you knew it. Why do you talk to me, knowing that I belong to this gender?”
“We are slaves to the patterns set in our childhood. I have noticed that you often blog knowing that the women on Facebook will abuse you. I see that you want female “punishment”. I had noticed that you once talked to me when I “slammed” you, on your wall. Do you seek to be humiliated by women? That is Okay, as long as this is not hurting you in the end. Have you done much reading on codependency?”
I think they should read some good books on gender differences. There are too many.
Then there are the people who think that I write about my childhood because I love my mother. The truth is that I do not. To me, it is a literary device. I hate her, and think that she is a manipulative bitch. She knows it better than anyone else. The only thing I regret about my life is that I was not born to some super-nerdy parents in the US—To people who are worthy of me. Neurotypical parents could not have raised me well.
But, if you are intelligent, you must have noticed that these questions are not so much about feminism or my mother. People do not understand the purpose of writing. Some idiots think that I wish to reform the society through my writings. Some think that I write to spread “information”. But, a murder victim’s family does not want the murderer to be hanged because it might scare prospective murderers. The more cynical readers think that my purpose is to malign my detractors, or at best, to tell people my woes. If there is anyone who has got anywhere close to the truth, it is Krishnapriya. “What you are obsessed with is an idea, not me.”, she once said. She was right.
To me, writing is about creating something beautiful. I do not really care about what people make out of it. To write beautiful prose, I have to write in the most truthful manner possible, but telling the truth is not an end in itself.
The ideas I believe in are not just outside the mainstream, they are way outside the mainstream. Why do I have such insights, when almost everyone lacks them? I think it is because not many people are unusually smart and unusually conscientious at the same time. This is why they tend to believe that I am driven by many motives that I cannot even relate to, as a writer. These are fundamentally little people who have never known the joy of creation.
Now I realize that a wide gulf separates me and normal human beings. Do you know how a dog thinks? It is almost as hard for me to know how ordinary human beings think. I have noticed many things. Since childhood, I have been noticing that normal people do not understand the concept of a debate. It is not possible for them to not take disagreement personally. It was only decades later I understood that they see debates as a sign of conflict. It is hard for me to understand how people can be so little. It is only recently I understood that if you tell neurotypicals that you do not like their hair style, they will think that this means that you do not like them. People have no respect for the truth. They do not care whether something is true or false. I am slowly beginning to understand that this is the root of all the conflicts I had in my life. Much of what people call Asperger’s is this.